“Have you ever fixed a car before?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“No, not really.” She picked up a crowfoot wrench and inspected it. Arching one brow, she offered him a telling smirk. “I do know my tools. This is a thingamajig.”
A grin parted his lips, a laugh escaping from his chest. “You know, I’ve heard it called that. I’ve also heard it referred to it as a whatchamacallit.”
Amusement sparked her eyes and she nodded, placing the wrench down beside the other tools. Slender fingers slipped through the mass of her hair and she gathered it into her fist, absently braiding it. She stepped nearer and peered into the engine. The faint smell of citrus followed, wrapping him in the embracing fragrance. “I’m sorry, what did you call it?”
Someone laughed off camera and Erik shook his head. “Technically, it’s a wrench, I need it for the serpentine belt kit.” He pointed to the auto part and lifted the rubber belt, anything to distract him from the sensual woman standing too close for comfort. “Alternators have a belt that helps them work and the crowfoot wrench helps me put it back on.”
“When did you learn about cars?” she asked, nimble fingers still trying to tame her curls into a modest braid.
Tearing his gaze away, he hefted the alternator and settled it into place. Aligning the three bolt holes, he forced his focus on the task at hand. The crew was watching, ready to pounce on a single slip of the tongue either one of them made. “My grandfather owned a garage. He also had a farm but it didn’t always pay the bills. I helped out in both places.”
“I spent some time on a ranch.” She pressed her lips together, like she made a mistake by admitting it. “Well, it’s more like a dude ranch.”
He began to fit the first of three bolts into the alternator and threaded the end through with his fingers. “Then you rope and ride?”
“No, I can barely ride a horse and they didn’t have any cows. Farms have cows. Can you rope a cow?”
Using the socket wrench, he tightened the first bolt. “No, but I’m damn good at cow tipping.”
“Good to know.” A smile spit her lips.
“Can you hand me the thingamajig?” Before he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia, he’d depended on instinct and not instructions to fix anything. It had made sense to him and he’d adapted, trusting his instincts. They’d been pretty spot on, except for when it came to Belle. He was still flummoxed about the whole awkwardness after sex debacle.
“Sure.” She picked up the socket wrench and handed it to him. “I never tried cow tipping. It looks dangerous.”
“Only if the cow wakes up.” He fitted the socket over the bolt and tightened it with a back and forth motion.
“I could see where that might be dangerous. So, how’s that thingamajig working out for you?” She leaned against the grill, the smell of her perfume drifting to him. The storm was long gone and the gentle breeze ruffled her hair. Hair he’d held in his fist while she kissed her way down his belly.
“Great, can you see the tension?” He certainly felt it. The oddness that had existed between them had faded. Perhaps because he no longer felt pressured to impress her. Or simply the fact that he wasn’t as uptight because he’d had some pretty unforgettable sex with her.
She bent over and tilted her head, eyeing the belt that was located under the alternator. “I see it.”
The shirt gaped, revealing her necklace and plump cleavage. Her breasts were perfect, the memory of them burned into his mind. He moved his attention back to the matter at hand. Two bolts done, one more to go.
“What’s this?” she asked, picking up the voltmeter and studying the numerical display. “It looks like a torture device.”
The last screw tightened, he retrieved the rag he’d been using and wiped the grease from his hands onto the once white material. “It’s a tool that measures electrical potential differences.”
“Okay, I’ll have to believe you on that.” Her quiet voice called out to him, the same way as when she’d whispered his name as she writhed under him.
“I thought you said you didn’t believe people who told you to believe them.” Shit. She’d said that to him off camera. Hopefully, the crew hadn’t caught the slip. He wasn’t sure how much they knew about the true workings of the show. Granted, it was an assumption on his part but if he had to guess, they were all aware of his working relationship with Belle.
“I’ll make an exception for you. Just don’t make a habit out of it.” She frowned and pointed to the sticker on the lip of the hood that showed a diagram of the alternator and where the belts were positioned. “You mean to tell me there were instructions on the car the entire time?”
“It looks that way. But that’s only for the alternator. We still have to restore the electrical connections as well.” He reached for the crowfoot wrench, his bare arm brushing hers. “Now comes the fun part. Tightening the belt.”
He slipped the belt on the pulley and applied more pressure to the tool. Fixing cars was second nature to him. It was rewarding but it was a hard life. His grandfather’s arthritis was living proof of it. He was fortunate enough that he could take care of his grandparents in their golden years. They no longer worked the farm. He’d bought them a condo in Florida and they spent most of their time there.
“Since this DIY project is helping me save money, it gives new meaning to the phrase tightening the belt.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although since you’re doing most of the work, it’s not technically a DIY project.”
“You handed me the thingamajig. I think you deserve some credit for that.” The first two years of college were a struggle to keep his grades up and hold onto his scholarship. Money had been tight and he’d made a goal in life—no matter how big he got, he’d never forget his humble roots. Money came and went. Family was irreplaceable.
She held up her hand, finger and thumb an inch apart. Flashing a self-deprecating smile, she said, “A tiny, tiny bit.”
“If nothing else, you’ve proven to be entertaining.” How was it that they could flirt with ease right now but not after sex? He was at a loss, but now was not the time to dwell on it. A crew member walked behind a nearby camera, drawing his eye. They weren’t alone. Perhaps that was why. There had been a lot of pressure when they were alone, with the crew in the mix, it was safe.
